The Can Opener is Over There; You Know How to Use the Microwave

Had this big weekend going downtown to see the Pompeii exhibit planned, perhaps even catching a performance of Wicked (another one of those still-kicking-myself for not thinking of that ideas), and now it's down the tubes.

At 2 p.m. Mr. Right left a message on my cell phone that he was leaving work early because he didn't feel well. He's got to be dying for that to happen, so goodbye ruins of Italy, hello ruined weekend.

So when I get this message at 4:45 p.m., I call and find out he's home in bed with the flu. Have you been near any live chickens? I ask warily. Assured that he hasn't, I hang out at work until 5:20. No one wants to see a movie with me, so I go to the health club and grocery shopping, and... well, I guess I have to go home sometime, don't I?

I hate sick people. I avoid them like the plague they are. Nurturing and patient are qualities I was not issued. The people in that long line weren't pushing or complaining. Thank goodness I charged right over to snatched up talents like Natural Accessorization Sense and Cool Car Appreciation instead. Hmmm. Perhaps I should go make sure his tissue box matches his barf bucket or something.

I know! To cheer him up, I can wrap the Ny-Quil bottle in tinfoil. See? I'm thoughtful.